


The Innocence Will Never Last

by SolariaLunar21



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mourning, Past-Character Death, Pre-Slash, slight AU, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-02
Updated: 2013-03-02
Packaged: 2017-12-04 01:05:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/704703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolariaLunar21/pseuds/SolariaLunar21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Derek share a past, just not one that you'd normally think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Innocence Will Never Last

**Author's Note:**

> This does deal with past-character death of an OC character and the mourning of said character. This is slightly AU mainly due to my head-canon and possibly mathematical mistakes with ages. But still has a touch of hope for future-Sterekness at the end!

The box is sitting in front of him, contents already spread before him as his phone’s alarm rings over to midnight. He’s sitting cross legged at the end of his bed, hands grazing over pictures, baseball and birthday cards, even some letters. Newspaper clippings surround him as well as ticket stubs from movies and a few well-worn comics. All things that remind him of being eight years old and feeling like nothing could ever harm him. He takes in the smiling faces in the pictures and he wishes that he could go back in time and just tell any of those faces what lies ahead. Heartache, sickness, death; everything that will take the smiles away and some even permanently never to be seen again.

The window opens with a click just as he reaches for the most worn of the pictures, which is also ironically the youngest. The image of three faces is frozen forever in joy, laughing and joking around with no idea what would happen just three measly days later. Normally Stiles would be angry for the intruder, because it can only be one person, but under the circumstances he can’t be. He doesn’t acknowledge the other body as it settles down next to him and they sit in silence for a few more minutes before surprisingly his guest breaks it.

“You still kept all this stuff?”

“Yeah. Only day of the year I look at it, though,” Stiles replies, still staring at the picture in his hands. It surprises him when a hand squeezes his arm briefly in a gesture that’s so familiar it reminds him even more of the days when things were simple. Before hunters, Kanimas, werewolves, cancer, and drunk drivers came into his life and ruined it forever.

“I miss him.”

  
“I would hope so. He was your best friend,” Stiles says, finally looking at his companion only to find that Derek is already looking back at him. The simple statement leads him down the road he’s been avoiding ever since he saw Derek in the woods again.

From birth until the tender age of eight years old Stiles had four constants in his life: his mom, his dad, his older brother Nathan, and his older brother’s best friend, Derek Hale. Nathan and Derek had been friends since before Stiles was born, practically inseparable since the day they met at the age of three. Derek and Nathan weren’t like a typical older brother and his best friend; they let Stiles tag along whenever their parents gave permission. It was a six year old Derek who even gave him the nickname of Stiles when he couldn’t pronounce Stiles’ birth name. Nathan and Derek taught Stiles to ride a bike and Derek was the one Stiles told when he accidently broke Nathan’s new Game Boy when he was six. Then, the fateful day in May came when Nathan was riding home from the park on his bicycle and a drunk driver jumped the curb and hit him. In the years since, Stiles learned that he’d died on impact, that one of his ribs pierced his heart and there was no going back from that. Nathan was only fourteen and had just finished the eighth grade.

“It seems longer than eight years since it happened though,” Derek replies and Stiles nods because it’s true. Eight years feels like lifetimes ago, hell even just the beginning of his Sophomore year feels like a completely different world to him and it hasn’t even been a year since then.

“It feels like his death was just the beginning of everything though doesn’t it?” Stiles asks, because for him that’s how it feels.

“I can honestly say that if Nathan hadn’t died that night a lot of shit in my life would be different now,” Derek answers and Stiles wonders what he means but doesn’t want to push it. This is the most Derek’s opened up around him since he’s been back; to say Stiles missed the Derek that actually used his words is an understatement.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think my brother getting killed while riding his bike by a drunk driver really correlates with my Mom getting cancer at all,” Stiles says. 

  
“No, I guess it doesn’t,” Derek replies and they sit there again in silence looking at the contents of Stiles’ Nathan box. Stiles watches as Derek picks up a picture of a three old Stiles and a nine year old Nathan at the beach as they bury Derek in the sand.

“You know that’s one of the first things I actually remember from when I was a kid? I don’t know if it’s because we have a picture of it or not but I remember it was my idea and you just let me do it.”

“You were a persistent little shit, even then, I can tell you that much,” Derek whispers and Stiles can’t help but let out a small chuckle. They sift through the things from the box and murmur to each other quietly; antecedents from the past and stories to go along with pictures or items. It’s when Derek has a hold of the picture that Stiles was looking at when he first got there that he finally asks.

“Did Nathan know?” Stiles doesn’t elaborate on his question, he knows Derek will know what he means. Derek doesn’t answer for a few minutes as he just stares at the picture in his hands before he turns and looks at Stiles. He has to stifle a gasp because it’s the old Derek looking back at him and not the new one he’s known in the past five months.

“We told him a few weeks before the accident. He wanted to tell you so badly, but my parents made him promise to wait and we would tell you when you turned twelve.”

  
“Kind of ironic, both Stilinski boys having werewolves for best friends,” Stiles says in a self-deprecating manner.

“I’m surprised Scott’s not here,” Derek states. Stiles flushes in embarrassment and prickles a little, too, in irritation.

“Scott doesn’t know about Nathan,” he finally admits because it’s the truth. When Scott moved to Beacon Hills in January of fourth grade Stiles was still in mourning over his lost brother. He wanted to be around someone for a little while about Nathan and what had happened. People didn’t talk about it around Stiles, anyway. Then a few months turned into a year, turned into his mother getting diagnosed with cancer, and telling Scott about Nathan never happened.

“How can he not know?”

“He moved here almost a year after it happened. I didn’t want him to be my friend just because he felt sorry for the kid whose brother was killed. After a while it felt nice not having someone that knew, and then by the time I wanted to say something about it, well, Mom got her diagnosis. Scott wasn’t able to go her funeral when it happened because he was stuck in the hospital after a really bad asthma attack; it was cold that year for October and the cold always messed with him that way. As far as I know he’s never visited my mom’s grave and if he has, he’s never asked about Nathan’s right next to it,” Stiles says, shrugging his shoulders because it’s all he can do.

“I wanted to come home and see you when I heard about it, but it was a full moon and I was worried about my control in such a stressful environment and being back here,” Derek tells him and Stiles nods. He remembers opening the card from Laura a week after the funeral apologizing for not being there; that they both wanted to be but that money was tight.

“I probably wouldn’t have noticed you even if you were, I was sort of in a fugue state for a good week after she died,” Stiles informs him and they lapse back into silence, just sitting there staring at a box full of memories of the first person they both lost in the long line of losses between them.

“The fire was my fault,” Derek finally says, what feels like hours later, and when Stiles glances up from a comic he was skimming he realizes the sun is starting to rise and and maybe it really has been hours.

“Unless you joined Kate in setting it then I don’t see how it’s your fault. You didn’t light any matches, did you?”

“I was a dumb teenager mourning his best friend; one who let an older woman seduce him and stupidly told her about the fact that his family was full of werewolves. Three days later my house was in flames,” Derek’s voice betrays no emotion and Stiles has to sit and think about what’s been revealed to him. It explains so much of why Derek wants Scott and Allison to be apart, it explains so much about how Derek went from being the energetic boy he knew growing up to the angst ridden man he was now.

“That doesn’t mean the fire was your fault, Derek,” Stiles tells him because it’s the truth. Kate was a crazy bitch, Stiles would bet money on the fact that she already knew Derek’s family was made up of werewolves. He could probably even make a case that she knew about Nathan’s death and preyed on Derek’s vulnerability to get exactly what she wanted. Stiles goes as far as to tell Derek this because, well, he feels like he can now.

“You’re the first person I’ve ever told about her, about Kate. Well, alive, anyway. I told Nathan when I first met her and then again after she burned the house down.”

  
“He always was a good listener,” Stiles says and he realizes that he hasn’t been down to Nathan’s grave in months. He’s been so worried and frustrated that he hasn’t even thought about visiting his brother’s resting place and complaining about what a huge douche Derek had turned into.

“You know that he would be proud of you, right? I mean, probably not with me. I’m pretty sure if he could, he’d come back to life and chew me a new one for how I’ve been treating you. But you, he’d be proud of,” Derek tells him.

“Yeah he’d be real proud of how much I’m lying to our father.”

  
“You don’t have to lie to him if you don’t want to anymore; I mean, Scott’s Mom knows. Your Dad should know; he is the Sheriff after all.”

“I’m not lying to protect Scott, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m lying to protect him. I can’t have him getting even more caught up in this shit than he already he is. If he dies…” he trails off because if anyone understands, it’s Derek.

“Do you two do anything?” Derek asks him a few minutes later. Stiles can’t help but smile a little at how hesitant the other man sounds.

“Not really. We have Nathan’s favorite dinner but that’s about it. I usually sift through this stuff for a few hours then go down to Nathan’s grave…you can come with me if you want?”  

“Yeah I’d like that,” Derek whispers and Stiles feels something else stir within him from the look Derek’s giving him. It’s soft and warm and it makes him feel like something new is starting right then. He’s not sure what, and it’s not something he wants to explore right this second (he’ll most likely save that for later tonight when he’s by himself), but for now he smiles at Derek and turns back to his comic book, glad he finally has someone else to remember Nathan with.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought, with a comment or just leave kudos!


End file.
